DOLLHOUSED SISTER'S

ONE: KAMILLE

~~Charm
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SITTING IN A CAFÉ ACROSS THE STREET FROM HER FAMILY'S RESTAURANT, Kamille Romero sipped her açaí berry smoothie and lifted her face to soak in the sun. It was a delicious warm day, not too humid for August in L.A. She had spent the afternoon at her favorite spa--not one of those New Age-y spas, but a serious, old school spa run by a scary-efficient Romanian woman named Bogdana. Kamille's arms, legs, and bikini still stung from the honey-scented wax. But it was a good kind of pain, and besides, beauty was painful, right? Waxing and tweezing, like dieting, detoxing, and working out, all hurt.

And they all cost money. She'd had to try two different credit cards to pay her bill at Bogdana's, since it turned out one of them maxed out. Kamille was going to have to talk to her mother, Kat, about giving her another raise, or at least an advance on her next paycheck. The last time they'd had this not-fun conversation, Kat had actually suggested that Kamille consider cutting back on the weekly spa visits and a few other "luxuries".

Luxuries, seriously? As far as Kamille was concerned, these were all necessities. Kat herself had taught Kamille and her sisters to take pride in their appearance and maintain a strict grooming ritual, including regular hair removal. Just because they were poor now didn't mean they had to be furry and ugly did it?

At least Kamille made an effort. She couldn't say the same thing about her big sister, Kass, who was naturally pretty but couldn't be bothered too much with her appearance. (Kass's idea of glam was carrying a purse instead of throwing all her stuff into her USC backpack.) Or their baby sister Kyle, who cared more about looking shocking than stylish. (Fishnets and skull chokers were so yesterday.)

Kamille's cell buzzed. She smiled; maybe it was a text from her boyfriend Finn? She hadn't heard from him all day.

But no, it was a superannoying text from her mother: DOLL, WHERE R U?

Frowning, Kamille typed: MY SHIFT STARTS AT 430.

Kat replied: NO 4! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE!

What? Kamille rolled her eyes. Her mom could be such a controlling bitch. Ever since she'd opened the restaurant four years ago, just after their fathers death, she'd put the girls to work. Which was not cool. At age twenty, Kamille was meant for something bigger and better than waitressing or busing tables. She just wasn't exactly sure what that "something" might be. But her destiny was out there, waiting for her, as sparkly and spectacular as the Kodak Theatre on Oscar Night...

Her phone started ringing. The screen lit up: MOM CALLING, along with a picture of Kat in her "Hot Mama" T-shirt. Kamille hit "ignore call" and flagged down the waitress for another smoothie.

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DAVID ALEXANDER ROMERO HAD BEEN A FAMOUS FILM PRODUCER. But more important, he had been the most awesome dad in the world.

His sudden death had been terrible enough. Kamille was never going to get over that pain, ever. But a few days after his sailing accident, Kat found out that he had secretly invested the family's savings with his best friend, who was a big-deal investment banker to the rich and famous. And that the best friend, now officially a major asshole, had been arrested for commuting fraud and leaving all his clients broke--including the romeros.

Everything changed after that. Kat had to sell their lavish mansion in Beverly Hills and move them to a way more modest house in Los Feliz. Kamille was sixteen then; Kass was seventeen; and Kyle was twelve. The designer clothes, the expensive family vacations, the fancy parties . . . all that was in the past. The agents, actors, directors, and other Hollywood A-listers who'd always kowtowed to their father suddenly didn't seem to know who Kat and the girls were.